


Home

by emn1936



Series: The Aftermath Series [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emn1936/pseuds/emn1936
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here, he thought with relief, was home</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

 

“Sir, I’m receiving a secure transmission from Starfleet. Captain’s eyes only.” Uhura spun from her station to face the command chair.

 

Kirk turned to face her, his wide-eyed gaze meeting hers as an expression of confusion crossed his face. An eyes only transmission? A sense of foreboding swept through him as he stood and wiped suddenly damp hands against his pants.

 

“Uh… I guess… put it through to Captain Pike’s ready room?” Despite his best efforts, the command came out sounding like a question.

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

Uhura’s hands hovered over her console as she waited for Kirk to disappear into the private office set aside for the ship’s captain before transferring the call.

 

“Wonder what that’s about?” Sulu muttered as the doors slid shut behind Kirk.

 

Less than a minute passed before Kirk’s voice sounded through the comm.

 

“Uhura, I’ve lost Starfleet. Can you get them back?”

 

Once again, her fingers danced over the control board.

 

“Captain, I have Starfleet,” she announced in short order.

 

“Thanks,” came his reply.

 

Seconds later the doors to the ready room slid open. Kirk stood in the open doorway and gestured towards the communications officer.

 

“Uhura.” Frustration and anxiety colored his voice. “I don’t know what’s going on but I keep losing them.   Would you please come in here and do whatever it is you do to keep the channel open?”

 

Uhura stood and smoothed the short skirt of her uniform over her thighs as she moved into the ready room. She sat at the auxiliary comms station and quickly hailed Starfleet.

 

“I have Acting Captain Kirk for Commander Parsons,” she announced.

 

“This is supposed to be a secure transmission, Kirk.” Parsons’ image appeared and then faded into a burst of static. Uhura worked efficiently to boost the signal.

 

“Sir, the _Enterprise_ sustained a fair amount of damage in battle with the _Narada_.” Kirk’s reply bore traces of suppressed irritation. “We’re having difficulty maintaining a clear signal. The lieutenant is here to assist.”

 

Parsons waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. It’s nothing the rest of the crew won’t find out soon enough.” He drew a data pad across his desk and consulted the notes contained therein.

 

“Fleet shuttles will be rendezvousing with the _Enterprise_ in two days,” he announced. “Medical shuttles and personnel will arrive first to evacuate Captain Pike and the rest of the wounded.” Kirk’s eyes closed briefly with relief. The _Enterprise_ had warped out in response to Vulcan’s distress call a month earlier than it’s originally schedule shakedown cruise and as a result, it had left space dock without being fully equipped. Supplies, including medical equipment, had been left behind and Bones had spent a good portion of the last few days bemoaning his inability to provide proper medical treatment to all who needed it.

 

“That’s good to hear,” Kirk replied, flashing a relieved grin toward Uhura.

 

Parsons merely grunted in response and continued to review his notes.

 

“The rest of the crew will board their shuttles as soon as the wounded have been evacuated. The Vulcan survivors on board will leave on separate shuttles and will be brought to an undisclosed location. Commander Spock has requested that he accompany his father and the rest of the Vulcan party.”

 

Kirk and Uhura exchanged twin looks of surprise and then refocused as the briefing continued.

 

“Kirk, you and the rest of the cadets serving as senior staff – including Dr. McCoy and Engineer Scott – will be the last to disembark.”

 

Kirk nodded in agreement.

 

“Yes, sir. We’ll see the _Enterprise_ back to space dock.”

 

“No,” Parsons interrupted. “You won’t.”  
 

“Sir?” Kirk’s expression revealed his confusion.

 

“As you can well imagine, the press is going crazy down here. They want pictures and that’s where your senior staff comes in.” Parsons leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers below his chin.

 

“They want an interview and a story…” Again a burst of static briefly interrupted the transmission. “…where _you_ come in, Cadet.”

 

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Kirk said slowly. “We lost the signal there for a moment, please repeat the last part.”

 

“I think you understood me perfectly well, Kirk.” Parsons replied. “But I’ll repeat so there is no confusion.”

 

Uhura noted Kirk curling his fingers into fists out of sight of the view screen and shook her head at him warningly.

 

“Your bridge crew and the rest of those serving as senior staff will accompany you back to San Francisco. You will all pose prettily for the press. And then _you_ will make yourself available for interviews – all carefully selected by Starfleet, of course, and not until after you’ve gone through a mission debriefing and have been briefed by me or another member of Starfleet Media Affairs on what you may or may not discuss with the press.”

 

Kirk drew in a deep breath in a bid for calm.

 

“Due respect, sir. I spent a good bit of my childhood being trotted out by Starfleet as its poster child for grief and if it’s all the same with you-”

 

“And now, you’ll be our poster child for victory.” Parsons cut him off.

 

“The loss of an entire planet and three quarters of Starfleet’s graduating class hardly qualifies as a victory,” Kirk snarled. “Why me?” he asked tightly.

 

Parsons slapped his hands down onto the desk and sat up straight. “Kirk, you may be Acting Captain of the _Enterprise_ but you are still a Cadet with no authority once you are off that ship. And you are grossly confused if you think otherwise. This is not a request. This is an order. In the wake of the loss of Vulcan and of so large a portion of your classmates, the Federation is in desperate need of a positive story. You’re a hero, kid. Deal.”

 

Kirk leaned into the view screen, menace in every line of his body.

 

“And the fact that I’m George Kirk’s son…?”

 

“Who outmaneuvered and outwitted his father’s murderer, destroying him in the process?” Parsons’ mouth curved in a self-satisfied smile. “Is icing on the cake.” He stabbed a finger toward the view screen. “Two days, Cadet,” he warned. “Starfleet out.”

 

The view screen went blank. Uhura sat in silence – unsure whether she should leave or stay. She watched Kirk carefully and saw a muscle ticking furiously in his clenched jaw.

 

“Goddamnit!” 

 

Uhura jumped as Kirk shoved himself to his feet. He flung a PADD across the room where it ricocheted harmlessly off the far wall. He scrubbed his hands over his face and his chest rose and fell in carefully regulated breaths.

 

Rage, grief and a host of other emotions competed for dominance over his face before he managed to regain control.

 

He turned his gaze on Uhura and she was struck by the bleakness in his eyes which was at odds with the taut and cool expression on his face.

 

“You heard the man, Uhura. Please pass the word to all departments.” He walked around the table to pick up the data pad he had thrown. 

 

“Aye, sir.” 

 

She headed toward the doors leading back to the bridge and paused when he called her name. 

 

“Uhura.” 

 

She turned and studied the rigid set of his shoulders as he stared down at the glossy surface of the table beneath his fingers.

 

“You might want to make sure you get a picture of McCoy’s face when you tell him to make himself pretty for the cameras.” 

 

A startled laugh escaped her as she imagined the doctor’s reaction to the news and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Kirk craned his head around to face her.

 

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she promised, relieved to see a trace of his trademark grin twist his generous lips.

 

She hesitated again as the doors to the bridge slid open.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

 

He leaned back against the table, struck by the quiet note of concern in her voice.  “I’m fine,” he smiled. “Thanks.”

 

They held one another’s gaze for a long moment.

 

“Go,” he said, jerking his head towards the door. “It’s okay.”

 

Uhura pulled herself to attention in a brief show of respect.

 

“Aye-aye… Captain.”

 

************

 

TBC

  
  


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

Two days later, Kirk and the remaining members of his crew were herded onto the last shuttle. Reluctant to leave, he had protested until the last moment to be allowed to remain with the _Enterprise_ until she reached space dock but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

Now, as the shuttle entered the earth’s atmosphere, the moods of the persons within bounced from highs to lows and back again. Joy over arriving home safely and relatively healthy warred with grief over the knowledge that so many of their classmates would never return again. Survivor’s guilt. Excitement at the prospect of being reunited with family. Pride in their accomplishments. Anticipation and fear over what lay ahead for them in this new world.

 

Kirk pressed his face against the cool glass of the window next to his seat and closed his eyes against the sight of the Earth rushing up at them. Instead, behind lowered lids, he mentally traced every line and curve of the _Enterprise_ and missed her with an indescribable ache. A week earlier, the only thing he wanted was not to be kicked out of Starfleet by the review board. At the time, he was sure that would be the only thing necessary to make him completely happy. He guessed his actions against the _Narada_ had saved him from that fate and now he wondered if he could ever be satisfied serving as a junior officer under someone else’s command.

 

He turned resolutely away from the window and unbuckled his safety harness as the shuttle touched down in the large hangar. He ran a hand through his thick hair, trying to restore it to some semblance of order and tugged on the long-sleeved black undershirt which served as his uniform. A distant part of him was vaguely aware of Uhura holding a whispered conversation with the others as they too rose from their seats.

 

“Ready to face the hordes?” he asked. “Remember everyone.   Smile for the cameras!”

 

As the shuttle doors hissed open, he watched in confusion as the others ranged themselves around him. He felt Uhura’s hand brush his and he turned his bewildered gaze to her.

 

“If they want a picture, they’re going to have to work for it,” she said fiercely as she indicated the protective ring surrounding him.

 

“Jackals!” McCoy spat and Kirk’s head swiveled to his left to see his friend’s lips twisted into a sneer. He felt his mood lighten in response to this display of loyalty and pressed a fist over his heart in wordless thanks.

 

The moment was interrupted by the appearance of a young officer poking her head through the shuttle door.

 

“If you’ll come with me?” She swept a hand out to indicate that they should follow her. They stepped out of the shuttle and were instantly made aware of the press. Though the media had been corralled into the far end of the hangar, the crew was immediately assaulted by shouts and the relentless onslaught of the camera lights.

 

Squinting against the blinding glare, the acting captain and his crew carefully made their way down the ramp and onto the hangar floor. They thought they had prepared themselves and yet found that they stood in a tight, defensive circle, bewildered and overwhelmed by the cacophony of noise and light.

 

As their eyes adjusted, they were met with a more welcome sight. There, off to one side, stood their families. Kirk noted the instinctive movement each of his crewmates made toward those beloved faces before checking themselves back into the protective circle around him.

 

“Are you crazy?” he asked? “Go!”

 

Still they hesitated.

 

“Go!” He pushed one hand against McCoy’s back, propelling him forward and turned to nudge Uhura as well.

 

His restless gaze wandered over the assembly… searching, searching, all the while taking note of the reunions happening around him as his crew was immediately swallowed up by their loving families.

 

He smiled to see Chekov fall into his mother’s embrace and Uhura tenderly swept up into her father’s. Off to his right, he saw Scotty being pummeled in a backslapping hug with two men who, judging by the resemblance had to be his brothers. Roaring with laughter, Sulu was being passed from one family member to the next.

 

He felt tears sting his eyes as he witnessed McCoy dropping to his knees to sweep his daughter into his arms. Tiny arms encircled the doctor's neck and Kirk watched his friend raise his face to meet his ex-wife’s tearful gaze. As he mouthed a silent ‘thank you’, Jocelyn McCoy laid a trembling hand on her former husband’s shoulder, connecting them as a family again, animosity forgotten, if only for that moment.

 

And then a flash of motion caught his eye. Blonde hair shimmering under the lights, wearing a dress the same cornflower blue as her son’s eyes, Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk (Ret.) pushed her way through the crowd.   When she was just a few yards from him, she suddenly stopped, her hungry gaze devouring him, cataloging the bruises marring his handsome face, her heart singing, _reveling_ at the very sight of him.

 

And then they were both in motion and in two steps had crashed together.

 

Here, in her arms, he thought with relief, was home.

 

Here was ‘safe’.

 

Kirk turned his face into her neck. As a child, he had always thought his mother smelled like a perfect summer Iowan day. Of fresh air and flowers on the breeze. He tightened his arms around her and breathed deeply of that familiar, comforting scent.

 

Winona closed her eyes and tilted her cheek against the top of his head. The warmth of his breath against her neck stirred a memory and she was transported back to a time when he was a tiny infant, snuggled on her shoulder after nursing, his breathing little more than sweet puffs of air as he nodded off to sleep. To a time when she could hold him and keep him safe.

 

“Oh, my baby,” she crooned as she rocked him in her arms, oblivious to the explosion of camera flashes. Later that day, countless media outlets on dozens of planets would carry a picture of Winona Kirk cradling her adult son in her arms juxtaposed against a twenty-five year old image of a much younger woman carrying her newborn off a medical shuttle.

 

*********

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Long moments passed and finally Winona loosened her grip enough so that she could step back and take a good look at her son. She raised a trembling hand and touched gentle fingers to the bruises swelling his cheek and eye socket and shook her head.

 

“You should see the other guy, Mom,” Kirk said reassuringly and his mother dutifully summoned an answering smile to his time-worn joke.

 

Kirk became aware of another presence at his side and turned to see his stepfather standing nearby.

 

“Frank.” He held out a hand which was immediately swallowed in the other man’s two-handed grip.

 

“Jim.” The older man pumped his stepson’s hand in a fervent shake. “It’s good to see you.” He tipped his head towards the woman standing between them. “Your mother was worried.”

 

“If you will all follow me.” The same young female officer who had greeted the crew on the shuttle raised her voice to be heard over the noise of the reunions and the persistent calls of the press. She swept out a hand and ushered the crew and their families through a door and into a private room which was blessedly quiet in comparison to the crazed din of the hangar.

 

Another officer stepped up to a podium – Kirk and Uhura both recognized him to be Commander Parsons.

 

“If I could have your attention,” he called out and the crew and their families settled down to listen.

 

“We’ve led the media to understand that we are hosting all of you at a dinner here at the Academy this evening. Though in truth, we’ve made arrangements for each of you to be quietly escorted away from the premises so that you can enjoy a peaceful evening with your families.”

 

A low murmur of relieved chatter filled the room.

 

“However.” Parsons held up his hands in a bid for quiet. “I’m assuming that each of you have a communicator with you. If you don’t,” he made eye contact with each member of the crew, “get one before you leave. You will each be contacted at some point tomorrow with orders to report back here for several hours of debriefing.”

 

The crew nodded, surprised and grateful not to have to submit to an immediate debriefing.

 

“Cadet Kirk.” Parson’s gaze swung around to meet the Acting Captain’s gaze. “ _You_ are ordered to report here tomorrow at 0700 hours. Plan to be here all day.” His tone held a distinct warning which caused Uhura to bite her lip and shoot a supportive glance at Kirk while the rest of the crew looked on with barely concealed animosity.

 

“That’s all.” Parsons said in a more pleasant voice. “Dismissed.”

 

Winona shot a look at her son, her expression filled with questions over the antagonism that had colored Parson’s tone. Kirk merely shook his head and flashed a reassuring grin in response.

 

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

 

Frank supplied the name of a nearby upscale hotel and Kirk nodded in approval at Starfleet’s largesse.

 

“Nice,” he whistled. “Why don’t I go back to my dorm, get a shower and change of clothes and I’ll meet you there for dinner?”

 

“Nonsense,” his mother exclaimed as she clamped a proprietary hand around his forearm. “Pack a bag, you’re staying with us.”

 

Kirk opened his mouth to argue but his protests died in the face of his mother’s hopeful expression.

 

“Give me a few minutes,” he agreed.

 

*************

 

Frank held the door to the hotel suite open, allowing mother and son to proceed him into the room.

 

“Your room is right over there.” Winona gestured toward a door on one side of the small living room. “Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower.”

 

“Sounds good.” Kirk ducked into the bedroom and tossed a backpack containing a few personal items and change of clothes onto the bed. The room, like the rest of the suite, was quietly luxurious with well-made furniture and tasteful décor. He stripped out of his clothes, wincing as the movement sent pain stabbing across his ribs and down his back.

 

The bathroom was as well appointed as the rest of the suite. He cranked the taps open and stepped under the showerhead, quickly making use of the hotel soap and shampoo. He braced his hands against the tiled wall of the shower enclosure and allowed the hot water to beat down on him, soothing the various aches and pains he had collected over the last few days.

 

His thoughts drifted to his mother and the rollercoaster relationship they had always had. This woman whom he had adored and resented in equal measures for twenty-five years. He had despised her with a child’s irrational nature for leaving him over and over again and yet always forgave her when she returned brimming with joy at seeing him again.

 

As a child, he had resented her for the times when she had looked at him, but saw a ghost; loved her with an ache in his chest during those times when she would gather him close and cuddle him as she told him of what a miraculous gift he was to her.

 

And in the last three years, he had come to realize that relationships were complicated, and that loving someone could be both the most difficult and easiest thing and that his relationship with his mother was often one filled with the lowest lows or the highest highs.

 

He stepped out of the shower enclosure and dried himself with a plush towel before changing into worn jeans and a well-washed t-shirt. He returned to the living area to find his mother pacing from room to room, her personal communication device clapped to her ear as she alternately listened to the person on the other end or chattered away.

 

Kirk flopped down onto the sofa and turned an inquiring look on his stepfather who was sprawled in a nearby chair.

 

“Her sister,” Frank explained. “Your mother was under strict instructions to call her as soon as she saw you.”

 

Kirk rolled his eyes and leaned back into the soft cushions. His eyes drifted closed as he listened to his mother exclaiming over her concerns regarding his battered appearance and thought he caught her mentioning the _Narada_ before she lowered her voice and disappeared into the other bedroom. He was floating towards sleep when his stepfather’s voice startled him out of a light doze.

 

“I’m sorry,” Frank apologized. “I didn’t realize you had fallen asleep.”

 

Kirk pushed himself upright. “No, it’s fine.”

 

“No,” the older man protested. “You must be exhausted. God knows you deserve a nap.”

 

Kirk flashed a grin at the other man and wiped a hand over his face. “Nap?” he asked. “What, am I four?”

 

He was surprised by the wistful expression that crossed his stepfather’s face. “It doesn’t seem all that long ago that you _were_ four,” he murmured. “Where does time go?”

 

Kirk tensed, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken; by the sentimentality in the older man’s voice. If his relationship with his mother had been full of ups and downs, his relationship with this man had been even more fraught with difficulties. They had come to a détente of sorts in Kirk’s teen years when Winona had taken a post at the Riverside shipyards and had resumed her role as her son’s primary caregiver and disciplinarian, easing the friction between man and boy.

 

“I…,” Frank stared at his hands fisted against his thighs. “I just wanted to say that… I just… I want to apologize.”

 

Kirk’s head whipped up, surprise evident in the widening of his eyes.

 

“It was my fault… our relationship.” Frank snorted out a self-deprecating laugh. “Or, rather, our lack of a relationship.”

 

“Frank… I-”

 

“No. I pushed too hard.” Frank smoothed his hands against his pants in a nervous gesture. “That day I told you I was selling the car?” He sighed and stared at a point on the wall over Kirk’s head. “I felt like I was constantly being compared to your father and always falling short in your and your brother’s eyes. I wanted to get rid of his ghost for once and for all and that car was a symbol.”

 

“Look,” Kirk interrupted. “I was a punk. I acted the way I did because I wanted to punish you for not being him. I wanted to punish you because she loved you and I thought it meant she was forgetting about him.”

 

He leveled clear blue eyes at the other man. “And I shouldn’t have. Because I know what it’s like when people have those expectations of you. Everyone expected me to be him. Mom. My father’s parents.” His low laugh was tinged with irony. “You were probably the _only_ person who didn’t want me to emulate him.” He swept a hand through his hair. “I knew I could never live up to those expectations.” He shrugged. “So, I just decided it was easier to be the complete opposite.”

 

Frank nodded. “Still, I should have handled it better, I was the adult.”

 

Kirk leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Maybe we can agree to leave it all in the past.” He scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck and let out a long sigh.

 

“If there’s anything I learned over the past few days, it’s that life is fleeting.” His expression hardened as the memories of lost classmates and the destruction of Vulcan played on his mind’s eye.”

 

“Let’s leave it in the past,” he repeated. “What do you say?” he asked, thrusting out his right hand. His gesture was immediately accepted by his stepfather and the two men shook on a fresh start.

 

Winona came out of the bedroom. “My sister has instructed me to tell you that she’s the toast of the neighborhood as the aunt of the man who saved Earth.”

 

“Oh boy.” Kirk closed his eyes and let his head thump back against the sofa again.

 

“We should have rented a small apartment for a few days, Frank,” she fretted. “Someplace with a kitchen so I could have cooked Jim his favorite meal.”

 

The two men glanced at one another with a shared look of horror.

 

“The boy’s a hero, Winona,” Frank drawled. “Why the hell would you want to punish him like that?”

 

Kirk tried to muffle a snorting laugh and earned his mother’s glare instead. She propped her hands on her hips and leveled a withering gaze on her husband but the man refused to be cowed and simply held her stare with a challenging expression on his face, as if determined to protect his stepson from at least this one thing.

 

A reluctant smile trembled at the corners of Winona’s mouth and she flung her hands into the air.

 

“Fine!” she exclaimed. “I’m a terrible cook.”

 

Frank rose to his feet and slid his arms around her waist. “But you’re a hell of a dancer,” he told her as he tried to pull her into a dance.

 

She pushed him away with a playful swat of her hands. “Not now.” She turned to her son.

 

“I may not be able to cook,” she agreed, “but I’m great with a room service menu.” She smiled at her son. “Should we order something or would you rather go out?”

 

Kirk shook his head at the idea of going out in public and possibly being spotted by the media.

 

“No, it’s comfortable here. Let’s just stay in and relax.”

 

Winona picked up the room service menu and held it out to him but he waved her off. “Why don’t you just pick something,” he suggested. “You know what I like,” he said, drawing a smile from his mother.

 

************

 

Replete from his meal, Kirk collapsed back into his chair and rubbed a hand over his stomach. “I’m stuffed,” he said, closing his eyes in contentment.

 

“No room for dessert?” He cracked open one eye to see his mother pushing a plate of brownies towards him. Tempted, he briefly considered taking one but instead shook his head.

 

“Maybe later.”

 

He pushed himself to his feet with a groan and began to gather up the dirty plates.

 

“Hey there,” Frank protested. “I don’t think a hero is expected to bus the table.”

 

Winona propped her chin on her hand. “Since when did you become so domestic?” She marveled at the sight of her son clearing the table as memories of knock-down, drag-out fights over chores played in her head.

 

Kirk dumped a load of dishes onto the room service cart and clapped a hand over his chest. “I’m the acting captain of the Starship _Enterprise_.” He affected a wounded expression. “My responsibilities are many and vast,” he intoned dramatically.

 

His mother rose from the table and brought the rest of the dishes to the cart. She lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

 

“My little boy is all grown up.” And though her voice was teasing, her eyes held just a hint of melancholy.

 

Frank pushed the cart into the hallway outside of their room and then went into the bedroom ostensibly to watch a game on the vid screen but, in reality, allowing mother and son some time alone.

 

Winona sank onto the sofa and drew her son down beside her. She watched him wince and fidget in an effort to find a comfortable position.

 

“My poor baby,” she whispered. “Can I get you anything?”

 

“I’m fine,” he murmured. Resting his head against the back of the sofa, he relaxed as his mother stroked gentle fingers through his thick hair.

 

“You look so much like him,” she murmured, staring at her son, but seeing her first husband’s face. So caught up was she in her memories, she failed to notice his visible tensing. “He would have been so proud of you,” she said as her fingers drifted over the arch of his brows and the strong line of his jaw inherited from his father.

 

“Why do people always say that?” Kirk cried. “Why do _you_ always say that?” He shied away from her touch and sprang to his feet. Winona sat still, her hands lying limply in her lap, knowing she had done something wrong, _said_ something wrong, but unsure what.

 

She watched her son pace away to the other side of the room and then whirl about to face her again. “Why is it so important to you that he be proud of me?” he asked. “Why do you think I care when it’s _your_ approval I’ve always wanted?

 

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I know he was a good man. I'm sure I would have loved him.” He paused and looked around the room helplessly. “But I don’t _know_ him.” He crossed the room again and dropped to his knees next to her.

 

“I’ve never wanted the approval of a man I never knew, but I’ve always wanted yours.”

 

“Oh, Jimmy.” Her heart broke. “You do know him. You _are_ him and he’s you.”

 

“And you?” he asked. “Aren’t I also you? Aren’t I _more_ you?” He pressed his forehead to her knees. “I guess I missed having a father, but I didn’t miss _him_. You can’t miss what you don’t know.” He raised his head again. “But so many times, Mom, I missed _you_.”

 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I did so many things wrong raising you, but you have to know how much I have always loved you.”

 

She leaned forward and drew him closer. “I’ve loved you for so many reasons,” she murmured. “Because you were George’s last gift to me. Because you look so much like him and remind me so much of him.” She shook her head when his expression grew shuttered again. “But most of all, I love you because here,” She pressed her lips against his brow, “and here,” she laid a hand over his heart, “you are the best of me and your father.” Her lips curved against his skin. “You are James Tiberius Kirk. Incredibly smart, incredibly funny… often an incredible pain in the ass, but I am so proud to be your mother.”

 

She tugged on his arms until he once again was seated beside her and curled her arms around him. They sat in silence, she thinking how lucky she was not to have lost him – not only to the events of the last few days – but to her own bouts of self-pity and neglect during his childhood, and he thinking about the interview and media blitz awaiting him tomorrow and for the first time realizing that being the son of George and Winona Kirk was not the burden he had always thought it to be, but rather a badge of honor.

 

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a while ago and posted it at my journal and ff.net but never at AO3. It's been edited every so slightly for style, grammar and a host of other small things I don't like about the original.


End file.
